


Oh The Wind Is Blowing

by MooseFeels



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Farmer!Castiel, Provence, WAY WAY WAY DOWN THE LINE Dean/Casitel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:03:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MooseFeels/pseuds/MooseFeels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet winter morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh The Wind Is Blowing

**Author's Note:**

> There might be more of this one day, probably. Maybe.

            The mistral whipped through the fields and wrapped itself around the house, a noisy shroud that made it impossible for him to think. As if the American wasn't enough distraction from his work.

            Castiel bundled up firmly in his clothes, the warmest ones he could find, including the woolen scarf his sister had knit for him long ago before she left.

            He filled his flask with the whiskey the American had given him and then stepped out to take care of the goats. They were happy to see him, or at least he liked to think they were. Balthazar had always told him, "Cassie, angel, they're goats. They are not too bright."

            But Castiel liked to believe they liked him with their smooth dark coats and soft bleats and sweet milk.

            They did not care for the wild and eager wind, but they preferred it to the creaking barn, so he lead them out for a short walk, the dog Gabriel had given him eagerly herding them outside.

            He knew they could not be outside too long or they would shake and shiver and become ill, so he walked them and pastured them for maybe an hour or so, just long enough for them to stretch their tiny legs.

            His brothers, they preferred sheep and cows and other larger animals (with the exception of Gabriel, who had a fierce and strange love of geese). Castiel loved small creatures though- he loved his small, dark goats and his wee, brown rabbits.

            He brought the goats back towards the barn and then quickly swept out the stalls and added new hay. He milked them efficiently and checked for cracked udders and irritated skin before heading back to the kitchen to begin processing the milk.

            He bottled it quickly and easily, setting aside two of the bottles for himself and sliding the rest into the icebox. Tomorrow he would ride his bike out and into town to sell the milk to the store and collect his check.

            The milk did not make much money, but it did help keep running water and electricity in his old house.

            He had lost feeling in his fingertips, holes cut in his gloves, by the time he was through.

            The fire in his house had long since gone out, so Castiel quickly started a new one. He had re-hung his coat and washed up a bit by the time the fire was going.

            He hungrily examined the breadbox and sighed when he realized it was empty. He cursed under his breath as he nestled two potatoes in the ashes near the logs to cook while he nibbled on a bit of cheese, and then he pulled a pen from his desk and wrote across his arm 'bread' in his slanting, spidery script.

            He knew it would be a long time before the potatoes were anywhere near done, so he absently cleaned before decided he could sit and read.

            The book was worn from years of use. Castiel remembered vaguely the days when his father would read to him from it- remembered being snug and warm in the large bed full of his brothers and sisters in the little house he had inherited.

            Remembered Papa's low and warm voice like the dying fire at the foot of the bed.

            He let his chapped fingers flutter over the words.

            _All children, except one strange little boy, grow up._

            And he thought distantly and fondly of being small once more.

 


End file.
